In the Mirror of Your Eyes
by volleyballwb9
Summary: Torture can cause even the most righteous man to fall. A fic about Dean's four months in Hell. Strong language and violence. Not Slash unless you want to read it that way. Rated T-ish. COMPLETED
1. Under the Knife

Summary: Torture can cause even the most righteous man to fall.

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Dean and _Supernatural_, I do not. So please don't sue me.

Other: I owe this to my friend Liz because I only seem to be able to write like this when I'm emailing her and now she is making me post it because that's how she is. She wrote the summary and yells at me to keep writing.

I hope you enjoy it.

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In the Mirror of Your Eyes

The flames' light licked the metal of the curved blade. "Where to start?" The drawl was curious and excited. "The eyes?" The tip of the blade stroked the soft skin under one brilliant eye. Bright green reflected on the rune covered silver. A sudden movement and the tips of eyelashes fluttered into the sulfurous air. "The chest?" Dean's skin jumped at the blade's lover-touch. His muscles flexed in anticipation. "Don't worry. We'll get there?" Smoking black eyes met resilient green. "Let's be simple shall we? Give me your arm." Both arms immediately shot straight out from Dean's sides. "Just as obedient as your father. Oh yes. You can talk, well, you won't for long but i enjoy the before and after thoughts of my victims."

Dean's jaw released with a click and he gasped in the unpleasant smog. He wasn't sure breathing was necessary but it felt normal; it made him feel alive. "Go to..."

"Hell. Well don't you hit the nail on the head, dear boy. Mi casa es su casa. It really is a lovely place when you've got eyes for it." Smoke drifted like tears from the black orbs. A grin spread across the gaping hole the demon used to speak. A set of charred lips closed the void to conceal the echoing chuckle. "Ah Dean. I'm sorry I am so rude. My name is Alistair and I'll be taking care of you this evening."

Dean locked his jaw in a scowl. The deep green couldn't conceal the young man's terror.

"Because it's your first day, I'll go easy on you and only use this knife. Such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, really. It has a mind of its own sometimes. No, no, no. Dear boy don't worry. You belong to me." The chilled metal slid under Dean's nail with a sharp flick. Harsh air stifled his groan. "No need to hold it in. No one is judging you down here." Another flick, and the nail glided through the smog to Alistair's waiting hand. "Here is your first souvenir, on the house." The nail was placed in Dean's throbbing hand. Deep ragged breaths broke the silence. "Alright tough guy." The knife slid slower this time, over his smallest finger. That nail joined the other with Dean's signature groan. "See, I like to hear how my patients are doing. If they won't be vocal I don't know if they are paying," a slow stoke, "attention." Dean's yelp brought a grin to the demon's face. Another nail joined the others. "We can work on that, but communication is the best way to nurture a relationship."

All five nails rested in Dean's motionless and bleeding hand. "Hmm. You're difficult. I like that. We can take each other to places we can't go alone." The knife slid into the first joint of his middle finger. Dean gasped and clenched his eyes shut. He could take it. "You know you can tolerate pain as well as I do. So I won't wait for the good stuff. Now I wanted to do you nice and slow."

"You're not my type," Dean gasped. Sweat trickled across his brow.

"Your jokes tell a lot about how insecure you are. See, Hell brings out everything. You can be yourself, no laws against anything. Consider this your first therapy session."

"Hell, the ultimate vacation spot."

"Well. It is warm and there is always something to do. And the view is really nice." Dean felt the kiss of the blade at his elbow. The screech of metal on bone scratched the air until the cool metal caressed his wrist. A soft whimper slipped out of Dean's mouth. "Now you're starting to open up. It's good for the soul."

Dean remained silent and in control. "Come on. Don't lock up son. You came so far." The knife kissed the flesh of Dean's inner elbow, and slid in near his pulsing vein. The tip touched bone, and slid knowingly along the vein toward the wrist. Blood filled the crevasse left behind. A stifled moan filled the air. Soon a harmony formed between Dean's pained groans and Alistair's laughter. Dean wanted to slice that piece of shit into bits so he would never have to see the demon again.

The silver knife glittered as Alistair's practiced hand removed it from Dean's blood-swollen flesh. "Dean, your eyes are positively glowing. Are those tears? Well tough guy?" Dean stared at the endless sky of the pit. "Come on. Say something."

"Screw you," Dean whispered, voice trembling.

"There you go again. Maybe your various pursuits with women were compensating for something?" Alistair's dagger teeth glittered against his charred flesh.

Breathing viciously through his nose, Dean did not look at the demon. Blood drifted across the table, trickling around his arm and torso. "Well, we don't have much time left, but trust me, we'll have time for everything you could dream of, and some that I come up with.

Alistair's inhuman hand glided the knife along Dean's vein and sliced the delicate tissue open. "I want you to know that I don't mind that you didn't scream for me the first time. We have so many more things to make you scream. And I think I went easy on you. I promise not to do that again." Dean's blood flooded the table with each pulsing beat of his heart. The demon's black ear grazed Dean's chest as he listened to the slowing heart. "I care about you. When ever you want this to stop just ask." This produced the desired catch in Dean's dead heart. The blood still poured from his vein. His ragged breathing let Alistair know Dean was still listening.

"When you want this to stop, you let me know. All you have to do is join me in the fun." Another catch from the still pulsing heart. "Yes if you want this to stop, you must torture other souls in your place. Trust me, it's better on this end of the relationship." A final catch. "Think about it." The harsh intake of smog stopped and Alistair watched the wounds created by his blade melt into the flawless flesh Dean's skin had been. Alistair leaned over, and kissed Dean's forehead with his blistered lips. "You'll come around."


	2. It's Rather Basic

Disclaimer: I don't own Dean, though, as every other fan girl agrees, i wish i did. I don't own any of the things involving supernatual, but the spine tingling is all me.

I owe this to Liz who still seems to be the only person i can write these for. and Yes, Liz i finally posted the next one.

Not for the weak at heart. sorry no pun intended (you'll see). Enjoy!

In the Mirror of Your Eyes

"Welcome back, welcome back. Dear boy. Where did we leave off? Ah yes, we made it to the razor wire last time. That was fun. I can still hear that muffled scream you let out as the wire clipped your tibia. If the scars remained on your body, damn, you'd be a work of art. Your choice today? I used the wire, the searing metal poker, ah what else... That lovely little hack saw... Well the rest don't matter, I have no problem trying them again. Come on, take your pick?" Dean's flat green eyes reflected the burning sky. "Still won't talk. Please." Alistair waited with calm ease. "No, well that is expected. I have another lovely treat for you today... The idea came to me while I carved into a crying rapist. His face was so disfigured, and I thought to myself… that was a powerful effect from something as simple as acid. Well, we have plenty of sulfur down here, so I figured why not? Good choice eh?"

Dean swallowed roughly. That was all the answer Alistair was going to get. The demon set a bowl down and dipped a finger in. The black digit swirled through the acid and smoked. A smell of decaying flesh dominated the sulfurous fog. Alistair removed the sizzling finger and licked the acid from it with a withering grey tongue. "Tastes like Mom's home cooked meal." Smoking teeth grinned out of boiling skin.

The finger glided through the acid again. The heavy liquid rested contentedly on Alistair's molten flesh. The harsh nail stroked Dean's shoulder trailing a line of burning flesh. Dean's muscles twitched and the skin boiled. A grimace spread across Dean's face, but his voice was strengthened with new resolve. He would not be broken. Dean wouldn't allow himself to give in.

Alistair produced a syringe made of beautifully carved crystal. The slim figures rested in graceful poses, leaving the taste of divinity in the air. The grinning demon slid the polished silver needle under the surface of the liquid. Burn fingers pulled back the plunger, flooding the syringe with acid. The figures twisted into depictions of Alistair's victims. Dean could almost hear the screams of the bloody, broken bodies.

A drop of acid struck Dean's stomach, as the demon depressed the plunger. His breathing accelerated, and his chin quivered. The acid drilled through his abs, exposing the organs within with an animalistic drive. Another drop in the hole and his stomach became an oven of boiling chemical burns. Alistair propelled the thick liquid through Dean. The acid eviscerated him from within, making a melted liquid of his internal flesh. Blood flooded Dean's mouth as he bit his tongue against the cry crawling up his throat. Not a sound this time. No matter what happened. Dean wouldn't make a sound. He swallowed swiftly, metallic flavor coating his throat.

"Oh. That was a wonderful idea. I'll be sure to thank that rapist." Alistair added another drop, pushing it further into the ruin of Dean's stomach. Dean twitched and swallowed again. The acid spread through his intestines and reached his back. The next drop burned through the edge of his spine searing the bone. His burning flesh smoked excessively; the air became tangled with the smell. Dean gagged and swallowed the blood in his mouth. The acid hit the table. "I think i see through you now. Quiet easily. Wasn't much to see through, actually… you seem quite hollow. You're very simple. Don't get me wrong we can progress much faster with all your issues bubbling to the top with such speed. All that attention you craved from your father and never received. I can give that to you. Be my student, my second in command. I can see potential in you... No? Well then." Alistair bent down to look through the hole. "What a beautiful sight. You even smell like Mom's cooking. Yummy."

The demon took Dean's hand in a compassionate embrace. "I do hope you will get better soon. I have the medicine you need to get better. Don't worry, I'll save you," Alistair whispered as if Dean were a dying family member. The drawl deepened as the demon tried to add drama to his words. The cold silver slid into the vein on the back of Dean's hand. His limp fingers twitched against the charred demon flesh. The twitch became a shiver that ran its way to Dean's frantically beating heart.

The plunger slid gently over the fallen figures, injecting the cursed fluid into Dean's right hand. His whole body went rigid as his heart betrayed him, pumping the acid through his body. Laughter echoed in the nothingness of Hell. Alistair danced around the table and held Dean's face between his long-fingered hands. The dramatic voice returned as Alistair breathed, "now that you have had your medicine, you can get better. You have to. I have a job for you. I need your mind. I need your insight. I need your strength. I need your heart. Dean Winchester, I need you to join me."

Dean cringed in a noiseless cry of pain. The charred nails dug into his face as Alistair willed him to scream. Brilliant green eyes gazed into an abyss of black and deepened with his will to oppose the demon. Dean forced himself to close his mouth. The scream now entered his eyes and he squeezed them shut against his shuddering

"I haven't heard a peep out of you yet," the theatrics had disappeared,, only to be replaced by annoyance. "I miss your voice. Please. One moan. One groan. One whimper. Pretty please with acid on top." Dean ignored his tormenter's pleading, trying desperately to forget the acid coursing through his veins. He wasn't giving anything up; he had promised himself that he wouldn't. "No?" The demon hand sizzled in the acid, wholly and completely submerged. "You won't even whisper?" The dripping hand rose up over Dean, drops falling across his chest. "Then I am not sorry for this." The hand struck Dean's chest. He flexed his fingers and drove the acid deep into the flesh and bone around Dean's heart. Dean gasped violently. "Your flesh, it is sizzling loudly. I can't hear you. Do you want this to end?"

The fingers slowly descended through the destroyed flesh. "You won't give me your heart? Then I will take it as a prize." Demon flesh struck the beating heart. Dean gasped and shook with the burning sensation. His lungs seemed to melt and wouldn't hold the air Dean tried to breathe in. Even with his resolve breaking Dean snapped his jaw shut and let the pain shake his body. "Nothing. Oh, dear boy. Why must you do this? Every time I get close you just push me away."

Dean's green eyes deepened further; the reflection of the endlessly burning sky attempted to consume the shocking color. "I'll see you for our next session." Alistair's fingers closed on Dean' enraged tissue and the beating slowed. Eventually Dean stopped seizing against the demon's hand as the slowing beat of his heart failed to break the silence, but Dean was a fighter. The melted flesh of his heart returned to its natural place, and every wound dissolved back into the perfect canvas Alistair loved to destroy. "Always difficult. I can change that."


	3. Beatings Will Continue Until You Break

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy my twisted mind. Again, thanks to Liz for being the only reason I can write like this. Thanks Julie for reviewing. OH! Yes I love reviews, so please feed the fires of Hell. (Sorry, I love puns a little too much.) If anyone has suggestions or requests I will be glad to consider them. Julie, I am thinking about yours for the next one but there might be a hearty twist.

Disclaimer: not for profit, don't own 'em, wish I did, blah blah

Enjoy

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In the Mirror of Your Eyes

How long had it been since he had last spoken? The pain was getting to be too much. Dean didn't know how long he could keep it up. Time was never ending here. He was sure a year had past, but all his wounds seemed to melt together into one anguishing cry of pain. The ominous tapping of metal announced the approach of Alistair. Dean's mental scars shivered in memory of the horrors those hands had inflicted on his, once again, perfect body. The only question running through his mind was: what tool was Alistair bringing today?

"Highway to Hell, hmm, hmm, hmm," came the crinkling voice. "I'm on the highway to Hell," came the sing-song screech. "Got to love that song. I mean, they've got that rock 'n' roll rhythm. Hello Dean, you will ever guess who came before you?"

As always, Alistair waited for Dean to reply. Should he? He didn't know what Alistair would think if he just started talking. What harm could to do to vent on the demon who seemed to use Dean for the same reason? The pause left Alistair disappointed. "It was a trucker who murdered a girl who hitched with him. Something about her refusing to pay him with sex. Brutal. Do you want to know how she died?" Again he paused for Dean's response, but this wasn't a question Dean was willing to answer. "Come on. You have to be curious," Alistair drawled. 'You're not being any fun, Dean. Just guess." Alistair frowned when there was no response. "Fine. I'll tell you." A streak of gray flashed across Dean's field of vision before lead struck his arm. The deafening crack of both bones in his forearms sent violent waves of pain throughout Dean's body. "Blunt force trauma. He beat her with a tire iron. How beautiful. I enjoy the sharp instruments myself, but this tool is making me reevaluate my choices."

The heavy rod came down again on Dean's hand. The crunch of bone was audible across Hell. Dean grimaced and held in his pain. This was nothing compared to the acid or the hammer and nails. He couldn't even compare it to the hack saw. Dean had been able to hold his tongue for so long, why should this be any different? He only needed the will to carry on.

Alistair smirked and swung again. The waves of pain doubled, crashing on each other as the amount of sensory information he took in redoubled. Each crushed bone forced continuous agony through Dean's neural network. The lithe demon stalked back and forth, tapping the iron against his hand with the rhythmic click of passing time. Alistair chuckled lightly, and began his brutality once more with an insatiable hunger. The iron crashed into Dean's flesh until he felt like pulverized meat. With every strike Dean clenched his teeth against his quickening breath. He was sure that most of his bones were broken, but Dean also knew that Alistair was nowhere near done for the day.

"What a stress reliever. This is fun," Alistair smiled like a small child on the merry-go-round. "I mean, there isn't as much blood as I normally like but... hey, look here… Now, what are the chances of that? I broke the skin." A trail of blood oozed slowly down Dean's calf and onto the table. "How do you feel Dean? I'm pretty sure I have crushed many of your bones into powder, and, well, you do look tender." Alistair ran a black finger along Dean's leg, scooping up the line of blood from Dean's purple flesh. "Not much, but I could never have let you leave without a little blood being spilt. What kind of demon would I be if I did that? I mean, what is torture without blood-shed? Not worth my time, that's what it is." The quivering drops clung to the demon's flesh. Alistair rubbed his bloody finger across Dean's cheek, chuckling when Dean tried to turn away. The demon laughed heartily as the bright red began to seep into Dean's skin.

Dean tried to slow his breathing, thankful that Alistair had not noticed his tears. He had broken bones before, not this many, but Dean could take it. He found his spot in the endless sky, and waited for the next blow. The laughter stopped abruptly, and the whistle began again. Internally, Dean screamed for release, but that part of him was beaten down by a stronger urge to keep silent. His father's voice echoed in the recesses of his mind; don't you dare give in, soldier.

Where would the blow land this time?

Metal struck the soft flesh of Dean's stomach with a hideous thud. Air rushed from Dean's lungs as his stomach jumped into his throat. A vicious grunt resounded, followed by harsh gasps as Dean fought the thick air for oxygen he wasn't even sure he needed anymore. His tender muscles flexed, trying to pull air into his lungs. The constant constriction revealed the yellow and black of his damaged tissue. When Dean's lungs began working again, his hushed breaths were released with grunts of pain.

"Well, you've said more in the last five minutes then you've said in a long time. Your stomach is a very beautiful color right now… But any artist would tell you that the yellow is just too pale." The lead whistled down again to strike Dean's exposed stomach. Dean's bruised flesh gave under the blow. This time Dean knew it was coming, and accepted the blow with empty lungs and tightened abs.

Alistair grinned at his grunt, and swung again as Dean took a breath. The impact seemed to reach Dean's spine, making him cry out with pain. The vibrations rattled his bones. Alistair grinned, hideous teeth gleaming in the fire light. "Thank you. Thank you, Dean. Use those vocal cords more often. Such a useful tool. How else will you be able to let me know when you've had enough"

"Screw you," Dean coughed. His stomach felt like mashed potatoes set on fire. Waves of agony began to build up. Dean gasped back a scream, and attempted to control the pain.

Alistair smiled. "Dear boy, you spoke," he gasped in reply. "I'm not imaging this, am I? I was beginning to think you weren't able to anymore… Interestingly, I haven't even done my worst and you break… I hear that the femur is the most painful thing to break for a human... Why not try it?" The iron swung through the sulfur and struck Dean's thigh repeatedly until an ominous crack rippled out of Dean's flesh.

A scream tore from his throat as Dean's bruised body tensed against invisible bonds. His will was broken with his silence. He couldn't take much more of the pain. Low moans shuddered into the air with every breath he took. "I suppose we proved something with that. Need we proceed any further?"

Dean's reply came in a hushed whimper. His eyelids squeezed tight over his eyes, but the brilliant red he saw of his lids mirrored Hell's ceiling. No thoughts passed through Dean's mind; he only knew pain in its deepest form. Alistair's scarred hand rested on Dean's bruised stomach. His sensitive skin jumped, and Dean grunted. The rough flesh stung the purple skin. Alistair's hand pushed down harshly to evoke a choking yell. "Need we proceed?" the demon repeated.

"Do whatever makes you happy, you mother-fucker," Dean gasped. He knew that Alistair could prolong the torture as long as the demon wanted, but the hate in his mind won over the fear. He refused to plead, and hoped it would drive his keeper to kill him.

The demon's smirk disappeared as Alistair realized he had yet to break Dean's spirit. Dean began to regret his bravado as the demon's face twisted into a snarl. Alistair stabbed the straight edge of the tire iron into Dean's chest. The crack of bone marked the lead entering Dean's heart. "Feel better?" Everything stopped for an instant, and Dean was sure that the dark was coming soon. He had been right to taunt the bastard into killing him. He let go, counted the beats to his death, ignored the pain, and waited for the end.

Alistair grinned. He counted the beats of time passing as well, but as he counted out loud he began to laugh. "Seven, eight, nine..." Dean waited for the slowing but it never came. His wounded heart beat with a renewed vigor, pumping sensation into every inch of his body. Every pulse brought a new level of pain. "Ha-ha, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, ha-ha," Alistair leaned over Dean's face. Dean saw his reflection in the demon's black glassy eyes. The blood on his face turned black in the reflection, and the green of his own eyes shivered with depth.

Dean's breath hitched with pain as his lips contorted into a smile. The smirk faded and a swift charred hand wrenched the iron forward. Dean's deep green eyes went blank.

The silence pressed on Alistair as Dean's body laid waiting. He stepped away and growled, then swiftly turned back to yank the tire iron out. "Soon, I will break him soon. Don't worry about me, you feathered slave; I'm good on my word."


	4. The Darkest Light Creates The Best Scars

I actually thought this wasn't going to be any good but I really like the way it ended up. I hope you all do too.

Disclaimer: I own neither of them.

Summary: Even the righteous man will fall.

Pairings: it heavier in this chapter, but you don't have to read it that way (Alistair/Dean). Just leave it to Alistair's creepiness.

Please review it brightens my obviously dark mind…

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The spark danced across acrid fingertips. Dean stared deep into the nothingness; his world was black as pitch. Another spark snapped in the silence, like the strike of a match on blackened flesh. His deep green eyes locked on the falling embers waiting for Alistair to emerge. The crackle of lightning drew Dean's eyes through the empty space before him as the sound jumped to the other side of the table.

A shiver ran the length of Dean's body, as the chill table turned his bones to ice. The memory of his scalding flesh raked his body against the frozen metal in an involuntary flinch.

Searching the fathomless depths of Hell's dark pit, Dean waited, trying to control his frantic body. Again the burnt flesh jumped with lightning, producing a camera flash image of the demon face. Dean shuddered at the maniacal grin set below the thunder storm in Alistair's black eyes. The image burned itself to Dean's retinas; even as the spark died, every where the demon grinned at his victim. Alistair stole his only refuge when Dean closed his eyes, his eyelids betrayed his sanctuary.

"Boo," Alistair whispered. Dean's eyes snapped open and caught the demon glaring down at him. Dean was unable to discern the demon from the air. Alistair sent a spark leaping from his thumb to his first finger, briefly illuminating his own face. Dean flinched and scowled as the dark returned. The demon grinned at the man through the clear black between them. He cultivated another weak spark, not allowing to to die. Instead, Alistair nurtured the potentially powerful electricity, and brought it next to Dean's ear. "Greetings, my Dean," Alistair's drawl lingered longingly of his name.

"Screw you," Dean snarled at the demon's possessive tone. His green eyes glowed with a different form of lightning. To this Alistair only grinned a jagged smile. The fierce light only more deeply reflected the demon's black eyes.

"Tisk, tisk, Dean. You know we had a talk about that. You are only deflecting, not dealing with, your situation." The strong spark in Alistair's hand dissipated into smaller ones. The rough flesh of his fingers twitched. He ran his fingers through Dean's short hair, sparks biting at the Winchester's scalp. Dean gasped sharply at the dark lightning. "Every time I leave you alone, you revert to your old ways. We make such progress and now you... you defy me." Alistair's smooth strokes paused to clench hold of Dean's hair. The demon sighed at Dean's stifled groan. "Tisk, tisk."

He let the grimace fade into the searching gaze again. Alistair grinned as he grabbed Dean's ankle. The current rocketed up Dean's leg, sending the muscles into tight knots and spasms. A long yelp ensued as Alistair watched the invisible bonds press Dean to the table. The steady beat of the man's heart became a vibrate cacophony of pulsing blood. The electricity passing into him lit a short expanse of Dean's skin with bright tattooed brilliance. The lightning danced across his flesh. "You are positively glowing." Only Dean's harsh breathing replied.

Alistair released the burnt flesh and the light died. Raw flesh remained in a cuff around his ankle. The muscles continued to twitch will the fading current. Smoke rose into the air with the last bolt of light. Tiny sparks trailed Alistair's fingertips as they ghosted up Dean's leg. Each muscle jerked at the electric pull. The sly demon paused momentarily, listening as Dean's breathing paused with him. A grin split his face before he latches on to Dean's slim wrist. Again, the current over took the man, drawing a cry from his lips. Sparks jumped across his skin before they sank deep within his tightened muscles.

Another ring encircled Dean's wrist when Alistair finally released his grip. A light chuckle filled the air in stark contrast to Dean's gasps of pain. "Do you wish me to stop, Dean?"

Sparks danced before Dean's eyes; he warily watched the only source of light. Without seeing Alistair's face, Dean wasn't able to estimate Alistair's affinity for pain at the moment. All he knew was that his muscles yelped and burned at the thought of enduring any more. "Another than." Alistair placed both rough hands on each of Dean's shoulders. Lightning raced across the man's chest, arcing across his well defined muscles.

A full blown scream tore out of Dean's mouth. The electricity dove into his lungs and rode the air out. The scream hitched and glowed before faltering into a moan of pain. Removing his hands, Alistair revealed to charred hand prints on each shoulder. "Do you wish me to stop, Dean?"

"Please," came the whisper. Dean's scarred throat clenched around the word.

"What was that?" Alistair waited for Dean to say it again, to say it louder, to give in.

"Please," came the tight throated plea again.

Full blown laughter bent the demon in half. He pulled himself together to continue his torture. "Please what?"

Dean grimaced and gasped. "Fuck you." He sneered at his pain, at Alistair's games, at Hell, and at God.

The laughter stopped immediately. The black became darker, pressing on Dean's eyes. Lithe fingers gripped his jaw and pulled Dean's face to Alistair's. Dean's breath sparked and the lightning storm lit the small space between the two beings. The jet eyes held no mirth at the pain clenching his victim. The air became rough and hot; Dean couldn't breath in; he gasped. His face danced with spastic muscles and leaping lightning. The table no longer supported his head as Alistair pulled Dean higher off the cold surface.

"Do you know why you heal from every wound flawlessly, Dean? Do you know?" Alistair's black eyes sparkled in the dim light. "Because I do not mark this body that you borrow. I mark you, Dean. This meat, this flesh, this pulse is temporary. It is an illusion, a tool, a prison. I do not mark it, for it is only a vessel of pain. I mark you, Dean. The pain you feel, the wounds you endure, the blood you shed are not yours. I mark you, Dean. Your soul. I mark you forever with scars that can never truly heal. And as they build one upon another, over and over again, you slowly lose yourself in them." Alistair's drawl dissolved in his growl. He pulled Dean higher, so that his back clenched to support itself as it left the table.

"Slowly, you realize that you are not you any more, but something else... Something angry, hungry, ravenous. Each month on earth is a decade in Hell, and each scar in Hell is a black mark on Heaven." The electric blues currents danced around Dean's wide green eyes. "Heaven allows its children to suffer, burn, retaliate until the end of time. Scar upon scar upon scar, and slowly the humanity in you fades to a rich and lusty black." Dean gazed deep into endless blue black orbs, and saw his reflection. He was a pale conductor to livid blue currents. But his eyes were dark in this image. The green was slowly fading with scar tissue. They still deepened with his pain, but not to the rich, luminous green. Now, they grew dark in the pain.

"You haven't been down here for more than three months. And yet, it has felt like decades hasn't it." The current intensified and Dean's body seized against the electricity. "Will you join me?"

"Yes," Dean breathed. Alistair pulled Dean off the table with a grin. He set the soul on the nothingness next to him. Dean looked back at the table to see the body lying there in repose. Glancing down at his hands, Dean gasped at the scarred soul-flesh before him. The black no longer restricted his vision as he glanced up at his mentor.

"Welcome to Hell, Dean," Alistair grinned. A hand rested on Dean's right shoulder. He glanced up from the deep black-green eyes with a look of accomplishment. Heaven should be pleased with its savior; Hell should be pleased with its seal-breaker; earth should tremble at its destroyer.


	5. Do As I Say, Do As I Do

Here is the next chapter. I ventured onto something different in this one. I hope you like it as we have moved from Dean being the tortured to the torturer. Bum bum bum.

Disclaimer: I don't own them… *sniff sniff*

Enjoy

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The black stone handle warmed in his hand. He could feel tiny ruins slowly fading from the jet. They gently played across the half healed scars shining across his flesh. Dean stared at the blackened, criss-cross skin, as if first realizing that it still oozed against the handle. His forest green eyes drifted up to the etched silver, as his first scars split up his arm. Vivid images filled his mind. The chill blade sliding up his arm; the tingle of blood flooding the table; his first good look at-

"Alistair," he murmured, as his fingers closed on the knife. Knurled nails did their best to grow in the wake of flames and blades. A rough hand rested on Dean's wrist, causing him to flinch. Dean's dark eyes wavered as he caught the demon's gaze. The joyful grin faded from Alistair's twisted face. Ancient scars split around the pitch black eyes, and Dean thought he saw something resembling a human beneath the coal black flesh.

"Yes, Dean?" The questioning look in his pupil's eyes set Alistair on edge. He slid his lithe fingers around Dean's wrist, perfectly tracing the still raw burn. "Is there something you need?" The green lightened, and Alistair involuntarily scowled at the soul's hesitation.

The protest died on Dean's tongue as the demon's anger sizzled through the air. Dean felt the electric fury radiating up his arm to trace his most recent scars. His fear won out in the end. He would do anything to avoid the pain at Alistair's hand. Glancing away, Dean whispered, "How do I start?"

Seconds passed before the mentor broke into a smile. "That depends on you, Dean. What would you like to start with?" It had been so long since he had taught another soul. He gently released his student's wrist, and absent mindedly set his crisp skin on a cumbersome scar that had split open over his heart.

"I-I don't know." He wished he was stronger; he wished he didn't have to do this; why did he have to do this? Mangled thoughts from his life began to twist in Hell's fire. Happiness was misery because it belonged to someone else. Misery was happiness because it wasn't just his. Dean's life held little joy, Sammy, and even that was being distorted. Thirty years on the rack and Dean began to realize that his one source of affection was lost to him, probably never cared. No! That wasn't true, Sam cared.

Dean chased his thoughts of Sam away, so as not to taint his memory any further. He had suffered for Sam, and, now, he couldn't anymore. He would cope with this new form of torment. "Where?"

Alistair watched the storm in Dean's eyes fade to a deep green. Just what he wanted to see; black wouldn't be far behind. "The chest? The face? The arms?" Dean looked away, ashamed that he was contemplating actually torturing the man before him. "This man murdered a man in cold blood. Ripped out his heart with a hack saw… Start there."

The knife hummed as Alistair touched the dark man's forehead. He opened his eyes moments later, and Dean flinched. He knew Marcus was a murderer. He knew the brutality of his crime. He saw into the man's soul. His mentor smiled as his pupil began to understand the workings of Hell.

The scarred hole in his chest ached. Dean stabbed the blade into the table and closed his eyes. Make it good, make it believable, make yourself immune to his screams, no mercy, Alistair won't stand for mercy. Dean turned his mind off as he mimicked the being he hated most. The hatred fueled him.

"Marcus, Marcus," he whispered. The blade gleamed as Dean removed it from the table with a gentle pull. The man took shallow breaths making his borrowed chest rise and fall, violently calling Dean to work his wretched magic. "Why did you do it? That poor businessman. He had three daughters, a wife, an elderly father. What did he ever do to you?" Marcus closed his eyes, but he didn't reply. The blade teased the flesh of the man's chest, gently raising goosebumps across the defined muscles. Dean half heartedly smiled at the clean slate before him. Alistair hadn't told him this soul was fresh. Somehow that should have sickened him...

But it didn't.

Dean dug the etched silver into the top of Marcus's sternum, twisting tiny scratches across the skin. It was something he wouldn't even notice anymore, but the cold blooded killer before him shivered with bottled up pain. "My apologies, I forgot. You can speak." Dean hadn't looked up; he couldn't face the man. Short gasps met Dean's ears as he split the skin down the man's chest.

"Please, I didn't mean to... I did it because..." Marcus sobbed.

"You think I really care. You evil son of a bitch. Excuses never justify killing a man. You deserve to be here, you sick bastard," Dean scowled. He felt his anger numb the part of his mind that objected to this. He slid the knife into the man's side and traced his last rib, cutting off the man's protest with a sharp cry of pain.

The knife sang in Dean's hand as the tip sank deeper into the flesh, as the screams faded into sobs. Dean removed the blade and pressed the edge against his next rib. It cut the skin like melted butter, passing easily to scrape the bone. Another bloody crescent gushed with blood from Marcus's racing heart. Dean pitied the man, and yet something entirely separate loathed him for being a coward. Meticulously he moved onto the next rib, evoking pleads and cries from the soul before him.

The pooling blood swirled across the table as Dean made his last slice next to the man's collar bone. The shivering soul flinched when Dean finally looked at him. "A hacksaw isn't very inventive, Marcus." Tears blurred the hazel eyes into reflection of the hell fire over head. "What did he ever do to you?" Dean placed the blade on Marcus's chest and prepared to return down the other side of his rib cage.

"Please," came the sobbed reply. "I did it for -" The knife slid deep under his collar bone as Dean scowled.

"Answer my question, Marcus. What did Peter Savona ever do to you?" Dean slid the ruby blade out and wiped it on Marcus's arm, before meaningfully poking at the next rib. "Answer me, damn it."

"You don't understand," the soul pleaded. Slowly the blade opened another wound across his chest and reset to wait for his answer. "I had to... No, no. Please."

Dean continued in his mindless torture. This time he didn't pause between slices, but finished each rib with a gentle flick of the blade. "You should have answered my question," Dean murmured. Glancing back at Alistair, he saw the man chuckle at his own private joke. Dean took a deep breath, he was almost finished. "Now I have run out of ribs and you still won't answer me."

"I did it..."

"What did he ever do to you?" Dean buried the knife in the man's stomach. The soul within the body withered against its prison. He placed his free calloused hand around the man's jaw. "Just tell me what he did."

"Nothing," Marcus choked. "He never did anything to me."

"Now was that so difficult," Dean mumbled as he patted Marcus's cheek. He with drew the knife, evoking another grunt from the broken man. The silver sang to Dean as the blood dripped from its saturated tip.

"Please, you don't under stand, I didn't do it because of him," Marcus whispered.

Dean growled; he spun and drove the eager blade right below the man's heart. He pulled the blade back so that the still cold metal pressed against the soul's false heart. "What on Earth would give you the right to take another man's life, you selfish bastard?"

Marcus grunted against the pressure and held onto the forced consciousness. "My brother."

The pressure eased slightly. The man gasped slowly so as not to reinstate the blade's pain. "What... did... What did he do to your... your brother?" Dean faltered; his anger dissolved. The blade slid cleanly out of the wound.

Deep green eyes bore into the hazel beneath them. "He nearly killed him..." Marcus flinched, expecting more pain. "If I hadn't... It was the only way... he just kept fighting... my brother almost died... I did what I had to do."

The knife bit his flesh once more with a killing blow, but he saw pity in his torturer's eyes rather than malice.

Dean slid the delighted knife from the fresh wound and placed it on the table. His scarred hands shook as he wretched against the table. Alistair's hand fell on his right shoulder again. The raw flesh split again as the demon's rough flesh agitated the ash black skin. "Dean?"

"I'm fine, Alistair," Dean gasped. Self hatred filled him. Dean glared up at the pitch black eyes with a scowl.

The vibrant green had returned to Dean's eyes, but Alistair knew the hatred welling within his student would eat away at his humanity. "Well done," the demon smiled.

Dean was a natural.


	6. Surpassing Expectations

Alright this is coming to my last chapter, building up to the end. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

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"This may pose you a new challenge, Dean. A new opportunity," Alistair smirked as his hand flexed tightly around his pupil's shoulder. His hand traced the burns freshly visible on Dean's flesh. The flickering black still glinted green, a problem Alistair believed nearly solved. "To mark our five year anniversary, I bring you more than just fresh meat. You will have to be very creative will Alex; he has spent so much time down here. His recent sojourn to... well away from here... has left him empowered." A light chuckle exploded from his lips unexpectedly. This was his solution. Dean would finally come around, finally give in.

Harsh noise grated against Dean's ears with flesh ripping tonality. The tickle of blood dripping from his ear almost set Dean's nerves on end. Five years is two weeks. He and Sam would be done with one job and finishing up another. But Sam... alone... Dean wiped at the itch in his ear with enflamed fingers to brush such thoughts from his mind.

Alistair had been feeding the hatred within Dean. Fresh bodies, fresh souls. One after another, without pause, without end. Each slice stole something from him as he relied more and more on this new hatred he created to cope. For some reason he felt addicted... Addicted to the blood, to the knives, to his fingers wrapped securely around smooth, jet black handles. Between souls his fingers would twitch and the withdrawal was almost intolerable. Dean listened with revulsion and interest. He was no longer disgusted with torturing the souls placed before him. He was disgusted with his interest in how he would torture these people.

Alistair steered Dean back to the table. The hacksaw still rested on the non-descript surface. Dean was skilled with every tool Alistair presented, hadn't even flinched when he was handed the hot coal. He had just tortured the soul silently until finally looking pleased with his work as he made the bitch swallow the lump of fire. A grin had lit Alistair's face then and it returned now as the memory fondly reminded him of his intentions. "You are going to put him back in his place. Show him that you are the one in control down here. I want you to use these..." His hand drifted gently over a pile of fat iron spikes. His other hand held out a sledge hammer for Dean to grasp.

Dean sighed, some how... _disappointed_? He didn't know what to feel anymore, but some part of him was disappointed. The rest of him shied away from that _part_ because it was hoping for something better, something more interesting. Dean suppressed a shiver. Torture wasn't supposed to be fun. Still he nodded eagerly at the tools and snatched the hammer from Alistair a little too quickly. Dean's thumb absently stroked the black stone of the handle.

Alistair beamed at his reaction but still felt Dean withdraw from the black hatred eating at the green eyes. Brushing his discontent aside, the demon moved swiftly over to the silent body. Another one of his favorites. Alex was much like Dean, stubborn, intense, and able to endure Alistair's worst. He didn't mind the rippling body either; it was so much more fun to see the toned muscles jump without so much fat and laziness in the way. Alex didn't whine, didn't plead, wasn't human... anymore. Alistair's rough palm rested almost lovingly on the body's forehead to raise the soul within it.

The soft eyelids fluttered open as if the man were confused as to where he was. Dean saw the gray-blue of Alex's eyes grasp at whatever humanity was left in his soul before drowning in the jet black mirror of Alistair's eyes. Almost an innocent color, Dean thought. The stone smoothly caressed his scarred hand, chaffing away at the half healed wounds. Just another soul, just another victim. He watched an ounce of fear scamper across the man's face as Alistair greeted him with a smile. As soon as Dean saw it, it vanished, buried under familiar hatred.

"How was your vacation, Alex? I do hope you enjoyed it," Alistair laughed.

"It was wonderful, but I missed our little sessions," Alex spat back with practiced ease.

"Why thank you. It is far to cold up there. Seriously," Alistair drawled. "I don't understand why you choose to return. It is a shit hole for sins to fester and bloom within worthless souls until they have rotted away into shadows of their former selves. Then they join us down here for the after party." Alistair paced back to Dean and grinned as Alex's eyes lit with unasked questions. "Alex, meet my student; Dean meet Alexander Carver. He killed a lot of people and got away with it."

Confusion darkened the blue eyes as Alex met Dean's stare and they waited for Alistair to finish. The demon was smirking at the opportunity to see the two interact. Dean knew there was some hidden joke to which he was the lynch pin; he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The hammer twitched in his grip. That part of him itched and fidgeted at the sight of Alex. The confusion held little fear at the sight of the hammer. Neither soul grinned or cowered; they each understood the place of the other.

The black demon continued without seeing the souls' exchange. "How long ago did we meet Alex? I can never remember." Alistair joked. "Must have been a thousand years now, right? Well, a thousand years on Earth. Those were simpler times. I mean, of course, all the good little sinners and such. Well, I will leave you to it, Dean."

"Going soft on me, Alistair," Alex mumbled. The demon turned to receive his banter. "I mean, you bring someone else in to do your work... Never, in all my years, have you... shared. What is so special about this soul?"

"Ha." Jagged teeth clutched the horrid sound with a jealous fervor. "This soul is the keystone of something much larger. You should worship his sacrifice so that you all might be free to roam the frozen piece of trash you are so eager to get back to." A fire glowed within the smoking black orbs. "It has been my pleasure to watch him grow into such a brilliant mind."

Dean couldn't seem to process the praise Alistair was readily throwing his way. He couldn't be the only one to give in to Alistair's offer. He couldn't be the only one out of millions of putrid souls just waiting for an escape. Why was his soul so special? The more questions that crowded his mind the more he could ignore the need to feed his hatred, the more he felt himself, the real _Dean_, return. A subtle warmth grew deep within him, and suddenly he knew if he ever received the answers to those questions that warmth would evaporate and never return.

Alistair had to grasp Dean's shoulder to enliven the hate again, but once raised it crushed Dean under its weight. He became the addict waiting for his next fix. Scars across his chest broke open to bleed slowly. They ached in protest to everything he was doing, and everything he wasn't. He stepped forward with his new tool gently urging him on. He did not ask for Alex's arms but they moved away from the soul's bare chest in response to Dean's silent will. The process had become mindless and Dean no longer needed to focus to ignore his victims. Their screams mingled in his mind as their blood mingled on his hands. He had to forget. The point of the spike rested squarely between the bones on Alex's forearms, pressing on the bones of his wrist as Dean swung the heavy hammer down. The dull square tip barreled through tender flesh.

A sharp intake of breath was the only response. "I don't see anything special in you yet, Dean." The shimmering blue eyes held a thunderstorm; they were the only part of Alex that revealed the soul was in any pain. "So the boss won't tell me. How about you? Come on. Tell me how you became his little pet monkey." Another spike burst through the soft skin next to the first. "Won't talk, Dean? I need conversation. It makes this so much easier." Dean continued about his work in a desperate attempt to bring back the mindlessness of it all. Thought was his enemy.

Dean decorated both forearms with a line of spikes slowly prying apart bones too close together to accommodate the iron. Only panted taunts met his brutality. The words were harsh and damning as they leaked into Dean's mind.

Don't think.

"I know your story, Dean Winchester," Alex mumbled. The hammer slipped as the spike twisted under it. The soul gasped as Dean cocked his head. Alex knew his words had struck a cord. Heavy breathing turned into a stressed chuckle. "I know your story." He repeated his mantra with a smile.

Dean looked away, trying to ignore Alex's bluff. Get this over with. Just keep working.

"You're not special, you deserve– ah." His words were consumed in a cry as Dean twisted the square spike embedded in his arm. A screech echoed across Hell as iron grinded against bone. The hammer twitched lightly and drove a spike sideways, ripping it completely out. A full fledged scream destroy all the thoughts in Dean's mind.

He grabbed the next piece of iron and tapped it along those already in place. A light clink punctuated the twitching muscles of Alex's forearms. The body before him seemed to jump but nothing moved, appeared to wither against impenetrable bonds but achieved no lee way. Something crawled just below the surface, only truly visible in Alex's eyes. "You don't know anything about me." Dean whispered. He could feel the hatred flicker brighter than ever to swallow him. He turned away to regain his control. Something inside him was slowly… dying.

The laugh rang out again. "Sure I do. I've been topside many times. Your father was such an ass. It took him three weeks to finally catch me. Ha. I guess I should have left you two alone, but Sammy was just too easy a target. He was about fourteen, right?"

A door splintered and gave way against his father's heavy boot. Sam's gangly form sat limp in the chair, a knife pressed against his throat. The smirking business man had laughed roughly at the two of them storming in to save the day. "As I recall, you begged us not to send your sorry ass back here."

"Yes, well, I almost didn't recognize you, Dean. How have you been?" Alex smirked again. "Does Sammy still have that scar on his back?" The darkness filling Dean's expression was answer enough.

His brother's thin shoulder blade glimmered in the light. A half finished star had been carved into the young skin. Dean remembered telling Sam that it looked more like a badly written A. "You fucking bastard!"

"And now you are down here. That's understandable. All it took was that stupid Sammy to get himself in enough trouble, and you sold your soul like a good little soldier." Alex relaxed, completely in control of his captor. "Protect Sammy, Dean, with your life. Never thought you would take him literally."

Dean's blackened irises faded into demon eyes. The sledge hammer whistled in the stifling air to come down on Alex's hand. A fresh bruise blossomed on his palm as blood seeped past shattered bones cutting through the skin. The hammer descended again before the victim could scream. This time Dean struck Alex's exposed side. Ribs gave way and stabbed into vital tissue. A cry perforated Dean's awareness and the rage settled. He gasped as the black ran from his eyes like tears. He was left clutching at his fading humanity, beating back each advance against it. He growled at the war within him.

The hammer left a black mark on Alex's side that slowly leaked across his chest and stomach. Yellow and purple veins spiraled away from the wound. The body's chest seized wildly against the wound. Pain filled Alex's eyes and, yet, he still tried to laugh at Dean's rage. Dean stared at Alex and waited for the damage to show its full affect.

Alex huffed out a few words, panting with effort. Each seemed to move for another blow at Dean. "So you are trying to piss me off. I won't put you out of your misery because of anger. I'm not him… Don't worry. It won't be much longer." Dean pressed his scarred thumb against Alex's wounded side. A grunt slipped from the soul's mouth.

Another fat spike twirled between Dean's fingers. The tip caressed the bruised ribs. "Wait, no, please," Alex whimpered. The spike was tapped half way in to the groans of the victim. Again his skin seemed to crawl under the surface. Dean drove it the rest of the in, so that its head pressed against the black skin as the iron cried tears of blood. "I am going to find good old Sammy boy, oh, when I get out of here, I am going to find him and... ah... I am going to make him scream..." The gray dissolved into Alex's demon black eyes.

"You aren't in a position to threaten." Dean said calmly and willed both of Alex's arms up. The spikes remained firmly nailed into the table.

"No, no." Alex bellowed. Tears fled the brilliant blue eyes, as the black melted away. Flesh was ripping, bones were cracking. Agony jumped like lightning into Dean. It made his soul ache and his humanity flicker. Immediately he stopped. Alex's arms slid down the spikes to fall against the table. Alex met Dean's eyes in confusion and pain, before his neck snapped side ways and the soul was gone from the limp body.

He settled his fidgeting grip on the jet. An unnatural calm blanketed him. He felt pity for the first time in a long time, and for a soul who deserved no sympathy from him. Dean turned back to his master; he had to know. "Why me?"

Alistair looked into the bright green eyes with a scowl. "Like I said, Dean, you are special. I don't go offering this deal to just any soul. And not just anyone would say yes." His plan had failed, worse, it had not broken his pupil but empowered him. The darkness had begun to fade from Dean's eyes when Alistair was sure this session would complete the transformation. He had to break Dean again.

Dean's fury itched for more but he carefully kept it in check. The hatred would never be satisfied and would continue to consume him, so Dean placed his humanity deep within his mind, and protected it at all costs. Never again would he be mindless.


	7. Rest in Peace

Sorry this took so long but I started to write this and I hit a block where nothing I thought up worked and I was excessively over worked. Unlike what many people thought, I finished this. FINALLY! Sorry for the bad formatting.

I came up with so many names for this (by looking through my friends iTunes so if you recognize the titles…). I decided mainly on two but I have a few others listed at the end of this rant. Hope it surprises you. Enjoy

As this causes me great sadness to write I do not own Dean or any other characters in this fic.

There is a pairing that I won't mention cause it will ruin everything, but Dean/surprise guest star.

This a very sad moment. _*sniff sniff, wipes away tears*_  
as always you guys are great!! ;) Read it and give me feed back.

This is the last chapter!

Titles: My Happy Ending or Rest In Peace

Or…

Don't Leave Me Here Alone  
It Ends Tonight, With You  
Heaven Forbid  
Unforgiven

The table lie empty. A solid block of black nothingness, it seemed more a void than a object. Dull without the blood of a damned soul glimmering in the faded light, the slab revealed tiny symbols worn from endless use. Dean recognized several etchings from the razor sharp knife resting in his palm. He set his hand on the surface and felt the pull of welcome, and a tug of binding. A silver sheen flickered under his touch as if the black nothing was being brought to life at his contact. He didn't want another to appear, didn't want to feel the shame, the horror, the pleasure, but that wouldn't stop another soul from materializing on the table.

He shuddered as he imagined the next soul, and the one after that, and the ones that would follow for an eternity. Shaking the image from his eyes, Dean returned his gaze to the empty table. It reflected none of Hell's sparse light. It made him feel less than human, like his own soul was as black and dark as the stone. Even with his pity and emotion locked deep within where they were safe, Dean felt dead inside.

Alistair arrived suddenly at his student's shoulder with another ploy. Dean had willingly become his apprentice and Alistair was bound and determined to make Dean into the powerful demon hiding within his cumbersome human soul. He had potential like no other; he would be even greater than Azazel. And when the righteous man did fall, he fell the farthest of all who were damned. The sharp but dark green had returned to Dean's eyes, but Alistair was convinced this setback was only temporary; a final desperate effort before Dean's soul disintegrated into black smoke. In fact, he knew that this was Dean's final day; the day he would become what he was truly meant to be, the day that rebellious piece of his soul would die. There was no way to fail this time.

"Surprise," the demon giggled. Dean was well aware of his master's presence, he was always aware of the demon's movements. "And speaking of surprises, do I have one for you, son."

"Don't call me that, Alistair. I'm not your son," Dean moved away from the table before Alistair could set him to work again. He felt the retort settle deep within him. He would have smirked under any other circumstances, but Hell had sapped him of his humor. Dean's hatred of the demon often simmered to the top in angry comebacks. For some reason Alistair dismissed these comments without a reply... Until now.

"Well you might as well be my own flesh and blood, _Dean_," Alistair grinned. "Of course, I have taught you everything you know. How else would you be able to torture millions of souls without a drop of remorse." He still loved to cut Dean open and watch him bleed harsh hatred. The boy needed to remember the pleasure he once took in cutting a killer to ribbons of bright, bleeding flesh.

Dean scowled. "Fuck you."

"If you feel so horribly about this, why don't you just climb up on that table, and I'll remind you what you are so afraid of," Alistair called Dean's bluff with a pleasing idea. He would enjoy destroying his student again, just the sharp knife and Dean's horrid screams. The demon patted the black table. "Hop on up, _son_."

Dean looked away, ashamed of his fear and cowardice. He absentmindedly drew the knife protectively to his scarred chest. The demon's long fingers wrapped themselves around Dean's jaw, tracing the lightning scars as he pulled Dean's face to look at his. A slight current jumped across his jaw in a blue spark. Dean jerked free and shook his head at the suggestion.

"I thought so. Next time, you will show me respect, Dean Winchester, or I might have to remind you of your place. Do you understand me," a deathly tone hid beneath Alistair's joy.

Dean knew Alistair's humor masked his anger. He could be back on that block in an instant. He nodded.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," Dean huffed. The spark had sent chills down his skin. The scars on his jaw opened under the fresh current. Dean refused to rub the painful itch dancing across the wounded flesh.

Alistair turned and continued his monologue. "So, I have a surprise for you... A present you would have surely enjoyed in life. In truth, I can barely believe you ever refused to save anyone, being such a righteous, self sacrificing human." Dean's mind raced into action at this last taunt. Who had he refused to save? There were people he wasn't able to save, people he didn't want to save, but he never refused...to...save...

"I believe you know her well," Alistair grinned as Dean spun to face the table. Bela Talbot's soul lay before him. He shuddered at his task. Memories rushed in to remind him of everything. The anger he felt when the colt went missing. The annoyance he felt when the thief risked everything to score a simple trinket. The way he wanted to strangle her for her stupid actions that always ended up putting Sam in danger. He was trying to save other people's lives as well as his own, and she just kept messing everything up.

But her striking blue eyes had held his gaze. He wouldn't deny staring at more than just her eyes - he was a man after all - but nothing about her held his attention the way her eyes had. He remembered her complimenting him in his tuxedo, and dancing with her at the ball. He remembered how angry he felt at himself for leaving her for the hell hounds, when he had known how to save her. He could have saved her. If he had only saved her...

Alistair moved over to touch her forehead. His ash black fingers brushed a few stray strands of hair. "Wait," Dean whispered.

The demon paused to smile. "Why wait, Dean? You hated this bitch in life, I can see it pouring from your very soul. She caused you so much trouble. Aren't you eager to start in?"

"I've- I've changed my mind," Dean stuttered. He tried to brush away a final memory but it consumed his vision. It was a soft memory and, therefore, so much more painful than any other. She clung to his arm; the soft skin of her hand brushed his. His arm instinctively caught her as she fainted against him. He had actually been worried for an instant.

"About what?" Alistair's grin faded over jagged teeth. His hand pulled back.

"Not her," Dean whispered. "I won't torture anyone anymore. Not another soul, I won't... should never have..." The startling image filled his mind. Her face inches from his. She was not smirking or laughing at him, not scowling or pouting. Her face was serene, calm, innocent...beautiful.

"I already gave you that option. You chose to keep this path. There is no going back now," Alistair recovered his menacing laugh. He was so sure of Dean's hatred. It pulsed from the soul like a tidal wave. Once Bela was bickering at him, he would fall into the familiar rhythm.

"No," Dean almost yelled. Alistair shook his head and let his hand stroke back Bela's hair. The soul's eyes fluttered open with confusion and knowing. "No," he whispered again. He looked away, unable to face her, and yet constantly confronted by her eyes.

"Hello there, Bela. Did you miss me?" Alistair smirked at her glare.

"Not for a second, you ugly asshole," she growled back. Her eyes flared with hatred.

"Ha, but of course dear, you look lovely too. Don't you think so, _son_?" Alistair turned to Dean.

She must have assumed he was another demon. Dean felt her gaze moving over his scarred back. Never had Alistair been accompanied by another demon as far as Dean could recall, she must have so many questions, so many fears. He knew this would be the deepest circle of pain Hell could create. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn't... He wouldn't... He turned with a blank face. Her pain would be enough without him getting emotional about it. He forced himself to be detached. Dean didn't care if she hated him. Alistair watched him with glowing eyes, waited for Bela to realize.

Bela's pale eyes met his as she gasped. "Dean," she choked. How long had it been since he heard his name, not Alistair's taunt, but his _name_ falling gently from a human tongue to hang quietly in the air. He didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do. "Dean?" He bit his lip and nodded. "What are you doing..." Her voice trailed off as she saw the knife in his hand, blood still sliding slowly down the silver blade.

He couldn't say anything; his mouth felt numb and useless. Dean fiddled with the knife's blade, wanting only for it to disappear. He looked away from her accusing gaze to see Alistair's grin widen.

"So, you two kids have fun," Alistair laughed. He shot Dean a warning not to disobey. "Oh, yes. I'll take that." The demon took the blade handle from Dean's palm. "You don't get any tools this time. Be creative, break a few bones."

How was he supposed to do this? Dean ground his teeth together. He was supposed to treat her like any other soul passing through? He knew her, might even... All he felt was a fiery hatred for Alistair, so he let that flow through him. Dean tried to burn away anything else. He drifted over to the table at a painfully slow pace. Bela's eyes followed him. "Dean?" Even her voice was a memory in a whisper slowly quelling the hatred within him. He looked straight into her accusatory gaze. The fire weakened. "What are you doing... What happened to you?"

He licked his lips as his mind raced for an answer. "I... It... Bela," he stammered.

"What? Are you and Alistair good old friends? Make a deal to save yourself from being tortured down here?" Her words fed the fire.

"Alistair is the most disgusting and vile demon to ever exist," Dean fired back, falling easily into their bickering.

"In your current position, who are you to judge another just like _you_? And you didn't answer my questions," Bela glowered at Dean as if she intended to kill him with her gaze.

"I. Am. Nothing. Like. Alistair," Dean warned. He grabbed her chin roughly. Staring straight at her, he clenched his teeth and tightened his grip. The pale blue filled with pain before wavering in the lens of her tears. A soft cry slipped from her throat. Startled from his anger, Dean released his grip before he broke her jaw and stepped back. "Bela... I'm..."

"Save it, Dean. I thought you were different. It's why I thought you could save me from my deal," she scowled. Bela closed her eyes. "But now I see what you really are, a coward, you have always been a coward." Something moved, just under the surface. A shuddering movement that Dean wasn't sure was even there.

Silence prevailed as Dean tried to think of a way out. "Bela I tried, I tried. But he wouldn't let me. I don't want... Never wanted to do this... Please." Her eyes opened and she glared at him. "I'm sorry." Her gaze softened.

"Dean, I- Dean," Bela yelped.

Alistair latched on to Dean's hair, wrenching his head back. The soul fell to his knees to keep from falling over. "I told you to torture this whore, not make small talk." He grabbed Dean's throat and pulled him up to his feet. "Now you will do as you are told or I will put you back on the rack myself."

"Then go ahead, you asshole."

Alistair pressed his hand into Dean's scarred chest, producing an anguished cry. It was as if his hand dripped with acid once more. "How about I torture you in front of her?"

"No, Dean, don't you dare," Bela cried, but she was ignored.

"Whatever makes you happy," Dean spat.

"Fine. Few things ever make me happy, but slicing into this lovely lady will do. I'll torture her in front of you," Alistair smirked. He sent an electric blue current through Dean just to watch him twitch and scream. He set his student down. "Now I can teach you the right way to carve into a soul." He struck a cord.

"No, please. Don't touch her, not her," Dean pleaded. He stepped between Alistair and the table protectively.

"On the contrary, it seems to be the only thing for you now. You have disobeyed me enough." Dean shook his head and stared at his hands. "Then do it yourself," Alistair warned.

"Dean..." He turned so that his eyes met hers and they saw the fear in each others gaze. It was not for herself that she worried, but for him. She wanted him to accept. She didn't want to see him get hurt again.

Dean looked away and nodded.

"What is it going to be?"

His chest ached and his soul tingled with the remains of the current. "I'll do it."

"I thought so," Alistair spat. "Now get back to work, _son_."

The demon retreated to observe from a distance but Dean could feel his eyes watching him. He glanced at Bela. "It's going to be alright, Dean. Do what you have to do. If it weren't you, it'd be Alistair." Dean pressed a hand to his newly wounded chest. "Just talk to me."

"Give me your hand," Dean whispered. Her arm moved at his will. Her soft fingers brushed his calloused skin. Oddly the old half open wounds on his hand were smooth with new scar tissue, but otherwise completely healed. "Where to start?" He held out his arm. The long scar trailing the vein clearly visible against the charred and cut flesh. Blood no longer seeped from the gaping knife wound. "First time." He glanced back at Alistair, who expectantly glared at him. He mumbled an apology before breaking the small finger of her right hand. She gasped but it was no worse than any of the pain she'd experienced at Alistair's hand.

Her breathing leveled and he snapped another. Bruises already spread from the broken bones. He willed her to break the tables binding, to escape, even as a demon. Tears were blurring his vision, but she didn't move.

"I missed you," he whispered. "I should never have let..."

"It isn't your fault," she replied, watching him expectantly.

"But I could have stopped them. We could have saved you," Dean mumbled. He snapped her middle finger, and she cried out quietly.

"What's done is done, Dean, stop it," she breathed. Both were afraid the demon could hear. She nodded and cringed in anticipation. The crack was audible above Bela's groan.

Dean's back was to Alistair. He brought Bela's hand up to his mouth and softly kissed each broken finger; the purple bruises brushing against his lips. He cupped her hand as if to reset the bones. She bit her lip and shook her head. He placed her hand back on the table and moved to the other side.

Before he even asked her hand rested in his. Bela's fingers twitched against his, almost holding his hand. He smiled sadly at her, bringing her fingers to his face. She brushed the scars running across his cheek and wiped away a stray tear sliding from Dean's dark eyes.

"Your eyes are different," she whispered.

"I can feel it...inside of me. I'm dying," Dean breathed back. He had to, Alistair was expecting it. The finger snapped easily. "I can't fight it much longer." He sighed heavily and snapped another. Bela's whimper brought more tears. "Alistair offered to take me off the rack if I would torture souls... I... I couldn't take the pain anymore. It was the only way out and I took it."

"I don't blame you, Dean. I would have done the same," Bela said as he shifted her hand in his grip. Tears ran down her face, catching like crystals in her hair.

"You don't understand. I enjoyed it. I liked the power. I liked the hatred. It killed me but I felt stronger with it flowing like acid through my veins." Another finger snapped.

"That isn't you. You were a righteous man, a hero for many, loved by…many." Dean felt an almost human compassion again. He wanted to feel fulfilled and satisfied, the way he always felt after a hunt, after he saved someone.

"I wasn't your knight in shining armor," he cried softly.

"Maybe you weren't meant to save me," she replied He leaned forward and kissed her slowly, accepting her forgiveness. Alistair would tear him apart for all of eternity...but he didn't care. She leaned up into his kiss. Time seemed to stop, and the moment stretched. Finally, Dean leaned back.

Bela smiled sadly.

"Maybe...

"I was meant to save you." Her hands cupped his face gently.

The air in Dean's lungs turned to fire. He gasped in smog filled breaths. He didn't try to pull away from Bela. Dean felt like his body had caught fire, sending shudders through his limbs. His own hands covered Bela's. Her touch grounded him; it was cool against the inferno within. He stared at her trying not to lose her in his blurring vision. Dean watched as her eyes filled with tears. Her smile glowed in the dim light. It was the only thing Dean wanted to see.

The fire consuming him slowly burned away the damage on his soul. The half healed wounds were finally replaced by healthy skin. Only the pale scars were visible.

Dean still fought to take a breath. His gaze locked with Bela's. Black smoke poured from his eyes. It fell like rain before drifting deeper into Hell. Dean's reflection in her tears revealed the golden green had returned to his eyes. The air returned to his lungs and his body stilled under her hands.

"Dean-" Bela yelled.

A burning hand fell on his left shoulder. Dean gasped. Alistair had come for him...

"How dare you take him? You filthy slave, he doesn't belong to you anymore. He is one of us. He is mine," Alistair shouted from Dean's right. The demon fought some invisible force, unable to approach. His jagged teeth barred in anger, he growled.

Dean's body lurched backwards. His hands grasped for Bela's but the force was too much. "He was never yours, Alistair."

Enraged, the demon broke free, but the creature was already ascending. Alistair stabbed the knife into Bela's chest. Her body jerked before dying under the blade.

Dean let out an anguished cry as the being of light pulled him up. He felt the glow wrap around him in a blinding embrace; it was solid and carried him for what seemed like forever. He was falling up while reaching back for her hand, always just out of reach. Dean closed his eyes, the light burning through his eyelids created dark spots across his vision. Until his falling suddenly stopped.

The rough pitch black was as all consuming as the light. Dean took a breath slowly. His chest hurt as if it hadn't moved in months. The air tasted stale and oddly of dirt. He immediately coughed at the pain and moved his hand against the wall pressing in on him. A splinter pierced his skin. Suddenly Dean reached inside the pocket of his jeans. The lighter ignited on his third try. The pine coffin left him claustrophobic after the never ending expanses of Hell. "Help," he rasped. He didn't know what else to call out.

He tried again but his chest ached from the lack of oxygen. He put his free hand to his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart under the stiff cotton shirt. The light revealed smooth hands; no trace of any wound marred the skin.

He was alive. Because of her…


End file.
